The Attack of the Schmetterlinge
by IcyWaters
Summary: A language barrier and army dispatch combine to create a big problem for Sergeant Garcia. With Don Diego out of town, it's up to the acting commandante and Corporal Reyes to save the day using their own brand of ingenuity. Based on the Walt Disney series.


Disclaimer: This story is based upon characters appearing in the Walt Disney Zorro television series. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. I don't own 'em, I'm just a fan wanting to keep the spirit of a favorite show alive.

Author's Note: This story is dedicated to the memory of loveable Henry Calvin, who passed away 39 years ago on October 6, 1975. The plot was inspired by a conversation I had with Ida Mirei, who shares my affection for Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia. Special thanks to immertreu, my wonderful beta for this adventure.

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><p><span><strong>The Attack of the Schmetterlinge<strong>

by  
>IcyWaters<p>

Corporal Reyes circled the desk and peered over his superior's shoulder.

The warm breaths tickling Sergeant Garcia's neck compelled him to straighten in the chair. He laid the parchment he held in his chubby fingers ink-side down so no one could view it. "What are you doing, Corporal?"

"I want to see what you are reading."

Garcia gestured for Reyes to return to the other side of the desk where he belonged. "This is an urgent dispatch intended for the commandante's eyes only."

"You are not the commandante."

Garcia's nose crinkled in irritation. "I am the acting commandante." He resumed reading the letter, glancing upwards every few words to make sure Reyes stayed put. The corporal rested the butt of the rifle on the floor, folded his gloved hands over the muzzle and propped his chin on top. Garcia frowned when he reached the end.

"Is it bad news, Sergeant?"

"Sí," Garcia replied. This was serious; he needed to confide in someone about it. He wished Don Diego were here. His friend always had good ideas. "Since you are my second-in-command, Corporal, you should be aware of the situation."

Reyes gulped. "If it is that bad, maybe I do not want to know."

"I am ordering you to listen. This dispatch is from Capitán Zambrano at the Presidio de San Diego. He warns Mexican insurgents may seek supplies and support from the southern pueblos. Last week, the capitán arrested several men with caches of weapons and gunpowder. We are to keep alert."

"Even in Los Angeles?" Reyes asked.

"Sí, even in Los Angeles. Capitán Zambrano would not have sent me this letter if he did not think Los Angeles was at risk. This is just between us, Corporal. Do not tell anyone. I will increase the patrols."

"We should check the afternoon stagecoach carefully," Reyes suggested.

"That is an excellent idea." Garcia glanced at the clock. He stood and gathered his hat. "It is scheduled to arrive at any time. Come with me, Corporal."

They wandered across the plaza toward the tavern, Garcia gazing longingly at his second home. He really missed Don Diego right now. His throat was parched and his stomach longed for better food than the garrison provided. None of the lancers could cook. "Are you certain you do not have a peso, Corporal?"

"You took my last one yesterday."

"Oh," sounded the disappointed reply.

Flat broke and the innkeeper refusing to extend them credit, they lingered near the establishment's front steps. Garcia watched the citizens, vigilant to strangers who might be rebels. Less than ten minutes later, the stagecoach roared into the pueblo in a cloud of dust. The team of horses slowed to a halt between the tavern and the large well in the center of the plaza.

A rear end greeted Sergeant Garcia when he opened the coach door. The lone passenger wrestled with a parasol as he tried to back out of the vehicle, muttering words Garcia did not comprehend. With an irritated howl, the man disappeared inside. The next thing Garcia knew, he was looking at the parasol's finial as the passenger attempted to force it out the too narrow door.

A pair of wire-spectacled eyes peered over the top edge, followed by a large smile. "Guten Tag, Herr Soldat." The man carried on his battle.

Garcia aimed a questioning glance at the driver.

"Don't look at me, Sergeant," Pietro replied. "He's been talking like that since I picked him up in Santa Barbara." The driver climbed topside and began unloading luggage.

"I bet he is saying hello," Reyes said.

"Ah, you understand him, Corporal."

"No, Sergeant, but most people say hello when they exit the coach."

It made sense to Garcia. He endeavored to help the passenger, but was not sure exactly how to grasp the parasol without damaging it. Suddenly, the fancy blue sunshade burst through the opening and the man came tumbling down. Garcia caught and steadied him.

The newcomer was about the same height as Corporal Reyes. He had broad shoulders and a square jaw covered in a closely trimmed beard. Gray streaked his brown hair. A single-breasted tweed suit hugged his stocky frame.

"Ich danke Ihnen, Herr Soldier."

Garcia nibbled his lower lip. "I am afraid I do not understand you, Señor."

"I am sorry," the newcomer replied in a heavy accent. "I thank you for helping me." He motioned to his parasol. "This foul contraption opens and closes of its own accord, but it is necessary. Your climate is harsh on my fair complexion."

"You are welcome, Señor. I am Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia, acting Commandante of the Pueblo de Los Angeles. This,"—he pointed to the sleepy lancer at his side,—"is Corporal Reyes."

The newcomer clicked his heels and bowed. "Diederich Heiner Wolfram von Diefenbach, at your service, Commandante."

Garcia, proudly puffing up his chest, beamed at being called commandante before exchanging confused shrugs with Reyes. It was such a long, foreign name! He did not have the faintest idea how to address this visitor. "I, uh, I must see your papers, Señor—"

"Von Diefenbach," the man replied, taking pity on the soldier.

"I must see your papers, Señor von Diefenbach, and inquire where you are from and what business brings you to our pueblo," the sergeant's authoritative tone faded, "Please?"

"I am a professor of lepidopterology with an emphasis on Schmetterlingen at Heidelberg University in the Grand Duchy of Baden of the German Confederation." Von Diefenbach produced his travel documents.

Garcia waited, his brain reeling. Was the man finished talking or merely pausing to take a breath? About the only words he understood were professor and university. When von Diefenbach did not continue, he again exchanged confused shrugs with Reyes. The sergeant settled for nodding politely and examining the man's papers. Everything appeared to be in order.

"We must inspect your luggage, Professor," Garcia said, returning the documents.

Von Diefenbach passed the parasol to Garcia, ducked into the stagecoach and reappeared with a large leather satchel. He pointed to the luggage piled nearby. "Those two trunks belong to me." The professor traded his satchel for his parasol. "Such bright sun in California."

Garcia began to unfasten the latch when the professor interrupted him. "Must you do this in the heat? Is there not a cool posada? Ja, you must join me for refreshments, Commandante."

Garcia's smile spread from ear to ear. He liked this fellow! "Gracias, Professor." He offered his host the satchel and carried the trunks to the tavern with the assistance of Reyes and the driver. Von Diefenbach secured a room. They hauled the heavy luggage up the stairs, then Pietro took his leave to tend to his horses.

Out of the professor's earshot, Reyes leaned in closer to Garcia. "Did you see him sign the register book? I wonder if his country runs short of ink."

"Good question, Corporal. There was a lot of writing on his papers, too."

The first trunk contained clothes and personal items. Nothing suspicious or rebel-like. The contents of the second trunk baffled the sergeant. In addition to a telescope, there were thick books, nets, wood poles, empty glass jars, bottles of liquid and what appeared to be collapsible net cages.

"What is all this for, Professor?" Garcia asked.

"Equipment for my studies. It is why I am in your charming pueblo," von Diefenbach replied. "If everything meets approval, let us wet our whistles."

The soldiers' eyebrows knitted together. Reyes voiced the question on both their minds. "Why do you want to get your whistle wet?"

"I did not find a whistle in your luggage," Garcia added. "And it will not work very well if it is wet."

"It is an old saying. You cannot whistle if your mouth is dry, ja?" The professor chuckled. "I will explain my visit over lager,"—they stared at him blankly—"uh, refreshments." Garcia and Reyes needed no more convincing. Down the stairs the trio went.

Seated at a corner table in the sala, the innkeeper hurried to please his newest customer for the foreigner flourished a heavy purse when he paid for his room. Von Diefenbach slapped the armrest. "Your best lager for me and my new friends."

The innkeeper frowned. "I am sorry, Señor. I do not have lager."

"Schnapps then."

"I do not have schnapps, either."

"Steinhäger?"

The innkeeper shook his head.

"What do you serve here?" von Diefenbach inquired. He gasped. "You do serve alcohol, do you not? I have heard there are places in your neighboring America they call dry. No liquor permitted."

"Is this true?" Garcia shuddered, horrified at the mere thought. Talk about a nightmare sprung to life! There was something decidedly wrong with the Americanos if they outlawed drinking. "You need not worry in Los Angeles. The tavern has the finest wine and brandy in all of California."

"Then your best wine, Señor Innkeeper," the professor ordered. Once they had full goblets in hand, von Diefenbach sampled the vintage. "Ja, you were right, Commandante. Excellent. Dare I say it?" He gestured for the soldiers to lean over the table and whispered, "Better than our Baden pinots."

After speaking fondly of the California wine, Garcia inquired of their host's visit. "You have traveled a long way from your home, Professor."

"Ja, I have been teaching at Heidelberg for nearly twenty years. It was two years ago when a contemporary in my field invited me to teach a course at the University of Madrid."

Garcia smiled. "My friend, Don Diego de la Vega, went to the University of Madrid."

"A gentleman from this dusty, remote part of the world was schooled in Europe? I must meet him," von Diefenbach exclaimed. "We have much to discuss."

Reyes set his goblet down. "Don Diego is not here."

"Sí," Garcia said. "Unfortunately, Don Diego and his father, Don Alejandro, are visiting friends in San Luis Rey. Perhaps they will return during your stay in our pueblo."

"Ah, I hope so," von Diefenbach replied. "He may be interested in my life's work."

"What is it you study?" Garcia asked.

"Entomology, specifically I am a lepidopterist." More blank stares converged on the professor. "You may also call me an aurelian if it pleases."

Garcia and Reyes exchanged shrugs. Such big words!

"Profound apologies, my Herren Soldiers, languages were not my strong suit during my youthful studies. It was only during my time in Spain that I began to learn your mother tongue. How do I say this correctly?"—von Diefenbach snapped his fingers—"I like the… the Schmetterlinge."

"Schmet-ter-linge," Garcia repeated, saying each syllable slowly.

"Ja, I like the Schmetterlinge." Professor von Diefenbach bounced in his chair with the enthusiasm of a little boy. "I hear there is an overabundance of them in this area. Weather in past seasons has created ideal conditions for them to thrive. So much that there is to be"—he snapped his fingers again—"an explosion? Nein, nein, an attack!"

The soldiers' eyes widened. "An attack?" Garcia clasped a hand over his mouth. He peered around the sala, grateful only Don Horacio and Don Julio were present during the lull before the supper crowd. Both older hacendados drowsed over their mugs on the far end.

"Ja, an attack," von Diefenbach said, spreading his arms wide, "They will be everywhere!"

Garcia struggled to comprehend. "These Schmetterlinge will attack?"

"Ja, any day now. Even tomorrow."

Worry etched on his round face, Garcia looked to Reyes while the professor excitedly topped off the goblets and whispered, "This must be what Capitán Zambrano wrote us about."

Reyes nodded in response.

"Since you are a professor," Garcia began, "you must know a lot about them."

"Ja, I study all aspects of their lives. My goal is to catalogue as many as I can, potentially discover a new species. Learn their habits, how they mate."

"Mate?" Garcia nearly choked on his wine. "There are women amongst them?"

"Of course." A twinkle ignited in von Diefenbach's eyes; his round spectacles seemed to magnify it. "Life would be dull without females."

"Madre de Dios," Reyes muttered, swallowing a large gulp.

"Do you know where these Schmetterlinge are?" Garcia asked.

"I show you." Professor von Diefenbach bolted from his chair. He halted midway up the stairs and called down, "I am right back. Do not go anywhere, bitte." Then he disappeared in his room.

The two soldiers sat in depressed silence. Finally, Corporal Reyes, who studied the rim of his goblet, raised his head. "I am not ashamed to admit I am scared, Sergeant."

"Me, too, Corporal. At times like this, it is not easy being acting commandante."

"If Zorro hears about this, he will help us."

"Sí, that is true," Garcia replied, his mood brightening. Zorro had saved his life several times. He trusted the fox liked him a little. "We only need to figure out how to let him know."

A door latching shut sounded from above, followed by footsteps. Von Diefenbach returned with a large roll of parchment. He pushed the goblets out of his way and unfurled it on the table. It was a map of Los Angeles and the surrounding area. "Here," he said, pointing to a location between the pueblo and Cahuenga Peak in the Santa Monica Mountains to the north. "This is where I go."

It was a rational place for rebels to hide. The terrain was rugged and winter rains encouraged plant growth. Canyons and boulders created good places to make camp and stash weapons without arousing suspicion. However, something still did not feel right to Garcia. "How can you be so sure these Schmetterlinge will be there? The army has not been able to find them yet."

Von Diefenbach looked up and pushed his spectacles in place on his nose, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "The army is interested in the Schmetterlinge?"

"Of course," Garcia replied. Was the army in the professor's home country so incompetent that they nurtured rebels? No wonder Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte reigned for as long as he did.

"Very good, very good. I like California! To date, only brief surveys have been done in this region, mostly by the mission padres, but historically this is a good habitat for them. The critters have everything they need for survival."

This made sense to Garcia.

"Will you accompany me, Commandante?" von Diefenbach inquired, emptying the wine bottle.

Did the professor actually think they would let him chase rebels alone? "Certainly, the corporal and I refuse to let you go by yourself. It could be dangerous."

"Ja, I suppose I could get lost," von Diefenbach said to himself. With the refreshments drained, he rolled up his map. "I ought to take my leave now, Commandante. I must inspect my hunting supplies. Please say you and the corporal will join me for supper."

They agreed to meet him in a couple of hours sans their usual enthusiasm for a free meal. When von Diefenbach withdrew to his room, Garcia sank into his chair. "These universities are strange places."

Reyes pressed a finger to his lip in deep thought. "How so, Sergeant?"

"Don Diego used to play with a sword all the time when he was a niño. His father sent him away to the university in Madrid and he returned a poet. Did you see the professor's luggage? He wants to catch rebels with nets and jars."

"You know, Sergeant," Reyes began, "if someone put a net on my head, I would not know what to do."

Garcia could not argue with that logic. "He had these funny net cages. They did not even look big enough to hold a man. And what is to keep the rebels from cutting through the netting? Chains will work better."

"I don't know." Reyes shrugged. "Maybe the cages are bigger when they are unfolded and put together. And if you take away their knives, then the rebels cannot cut through them."

"That must be," Garcia sighed. "I wonder about these Schmetterlinge, Corporal. During the war with Napoleon, our Spanish guerrilla fighters were an important part of our victory. What if these Schmetterlinge are like guerrillas? It explains why a professor is interested in them. Don Diego studied military history and he detests conflict."

"This is not good, Sergeant."

"No, it is not." Garcia toyed with the empty goblet in his fingers.

"What if the Schmetterlinge are not people, but weapons, like new a type of rifle or even a cannon?"

"That cannot be, Corporal. Professor von Diefenbach said they had females."

"Sí, but women could use the weapons. A Schmetterlinge could be the person who operates the new weapon, just like how a cannoneer fires cannons."

Garcia whimpered. "I wish you had not said that, Corporal. If only Don Diego were here. He would know more about these Schmetterlinge."

"We can ask the padres."

"Sí," Garcia agreed, his spirits perking up, "they understand many languages." He licked the last drops of wine from the goblet, double-checked the bottle to ensure nothing went to waste and crossed the plaza to the church with Reyes close on his heels.

Padre Ignacio greeted them warmly. After listening to their story, he emitted a low hum. "That sounds German in origin to me. Regrettably, I do not speak the language. If I am not mistaken, Padre Felipe is fluent. I am confident he will be able to assist you."

"Gracias, Padre," Garcia exclaimed. "Let's go, Corporal. We must get to the Mission San Gabriel."

"Wait, Sergeant," Ignacio called out, "Padre Felipe was called to the Mission San Juan Capistrano. He left yesterday morning and is expected to be there until the end of the week."

The crestfallen soldiers thanked him and returned to the cuartel. "It is a whole day's ride to San Juan Capistrano and another whole day's ride back to Los Angeles," Reyes observed.

"Sí, we do not have time to go there." Garcia slumped on the stairs outside his office. Elbows on knees, he cradled his chubby cheeks in his hands. "This is complicated, Corporal."

Reyes agreed as he sat next to his superior.

They debated the options and settled on preparing for a battle come morning. Twilight descended on the pueblo during their deliberations, indicating it was time to join their host for supper. Tantalizing aromas of delicious food and spicy cigars entwined inside the tavern and tickled their noses. A boisterous crowd filled the establishment to the brim in order to watch the beautiful dancer.

Silence prevailed in the room when the señorita materialized from behind the curtain. Guitar strums signaled the beginning of the show and the noise picked up. Cheers sounded when the sultry performance ended.

"Never have I seen such exquisiteness," von Diefenbach called out over the din, clapping his hands with gusto before throwing a few coins her way. "Bravo, bravo!"

"The señorita is the sister of a local famer," Garcia explained. "I will make introductions if you wish."

"Nein, nein," von Diefenbach replied, his cheeks blushing. "I would not know what to say to her."

When she disappeared behind the curtain, the patrons settled into their usual routines of cards, dice and conversation. Several hacendados approached to greet the newcomer. Professor von Diefenbach eagerly talked of the Schmetterlinge. To Garcia and Reyes' relief, no one seemed to understand him. The dons respectfully nodded in turn, exchanged pleasantries, inquired about European affairs and moved to the next group.

After the meal concluded, von Diefenbach took his leave. "We go hunting at dawn."

"Dawn?" Garcia repeated. "Why can't the Schmetterlinge sleep later?"

The professor laughed. "Gute Nacht, my friends. Good night."

"Buenas noches." Garcia leaned forward with his forearms on the table. "He is so cheerful when he may meet his doom tomorrow. Rebels will not show him mercy just because he is a scholar." Under a heavy cloud of gloom despite the jovial atmosphere in the tavern, the two soldiers drained the bottle of wine and walked to the cuartel.

Tasked with the difficult decision of how much to disclose to his lancers regarding the threat, Garcia exercised his best judgment. He divulged everything. They needed to be fully prepared for every contingency. He ordered extra patrols and repeated the caution to remain alert. Schmetterlinge were not to be trifled with.

A restless night of sleep followed for the acting commandante. Garcia tossed and turned in bed. Even his stash of midnight snacks beneath his pillow failed to alleviate his nervousness. With the sky still dark, he crawled out from under his covers.

Corporal Reyes exited the barracks and met the sergeant in the courtyard.

The returning patrols had nothing to report. Garcia instructed the men who had been awake the longest to retire to their quarters. He stationed a handful of soldiers to guard the cuartel. The remaining dozen prepared for a skirmish. Armed with swords, lances, pistols and rifles, they mounted up and rode into the plaza. The first hints of daylight appeared on the horizon.

A wagon hitched to a pair of horses was parked in front of the tavern. Several items filled the back, including glass jars and cages. Garcia shook his head. The professor emerged from the dark interior with an armful of nets affixed to long poles. He halted in his tracks, his eyes widening behind the spectacles when he took in the company of soldiers.

"Nein, nein," von Diefenbach shouted, almost dropping his burden. He placed the nets in the wagon and waved his arms. "Nein, nein, you cannot all go. Too much noise. You scare the Schmetterlinge away."

"We are trained to be noiseless, Professor," Garcia explained. "We will be as quiet as a mouse."

"As quiet as a mouse with cheese," Reyes added.

Garcia turned to his second-in-command. "Why cheese, Corporal?"

"A mouse with a mouthful of cheese cannot squeak."

"Good thinking, Corporal." Garcia smiled. "We will be extra quiet, like a mouse with cheese."

Professor von Diefenbach arched an eyebrow. "You all want to go?"

"Sí," sounded the troops in unison.

Von Diefenbach considered their pleas for a moment and sighed. "I suppose I have taken my students on field surveys. This is no different." He climbed into the wagon and moved the parasol next to him on the bench. "It is imperative you remain quiet and not make lots of motion. Understood?"

An agreement in place, they proceeded north toward Cahuenga Peak. The group kept to a slow pace with the professor stopping every few minutes to observe the wildflowers in bloom. He delighted at the buzzing bees and dragonflies drinking from a small pond. He commented on scenery that passed by too quickly while he bounced in the stagecoach.

A perplexed Garcia watched von Diefenbach attempt to scoop up a praying mantis. The professor was certainly a strange fellow.

When the sun rose higher in the sky, Private Ibarra secured his horse's reins to the back of the vehicle and took over driving so the professor could brandish his parasol and shield himself from the harsh rays. At last, von Diefenbach exclaimed, "This is it. Stop, Herr Private." He jumped from the wagon before it came to a full stop.

"Corporal," Garcia whispered, "take half the men and scout ahead."

"Sí, Sergeant."

Once they departed, Garcia motioned for his remaining soldiers to dismount and fan out. Von Diefenbach set up a telescope near a flat rock he could sit on. Minutes ticked by without action—unless you found the professor scribbling in a journal exciting.

"I thought we were going to catch rebels, Sergeant," Ibarra said softly.

"If we are going to twiddle our thumbs, I'd rather do it at the tavern," Private Delgado added.

"Shush," Garcia replied, "do not make my friend, the professor, angry. He is very knowledgeable about this matter. The Schmetterlinge must be coming this way. We are merely waiting to apprehend them."

Ibarra and Delgado skulked away. Some of the lancers settled on the ground, leaning against rocks and logs, while others wandered between the shrubs looking for action. Garcia found a comfortable seat in the wagon. Just when he was about to nod off, von Diefenbach emitted an animated squeal and grabbed a net.

"There is one," he whispered, tiptoeing quietly toward a shrub in bloom. "A male, I believe. He is a beautiful specimen."

Garcia and his men drew their swords, but he did not see or hear any rebels. Nevertheless, he crept behind the professor. The sergeant's mouth dropped open when his new friend captured a butterfly. Where were the rebels? Von Diefenbach carefully transferred his prize to one of the cages.

"Magnificent," he awed. "Look, Commandante! Have you ever seen such a striking Schmetterling?"

"That is a Schmetterling?" Garcia asked.

"Ja, of course, what did you think it was?" von Diefenbach replied.

The lancers snorted as they sheathed their weapons and assembled by their fearless leader. "Hey, Sergeant," Delgado said. "There is another Schmetterling." Von Diefenbach grinned and gave chase.

"Oh, no, there are more over there," Ibarra said, struggling to keep from laughing. "They are looking at me funny." He threw his hands over his head. "Protect me, Sergeant! The Schmetterlinge are going to eat me alive."

A chorus of laughter rang out. Garcia's cheeks burned. He approached von Diefenbach transferring another catch to a cage for observation. "Schmetterlinge are butterflies?"

"Ah, that is the word," the professor smiled, "butterfly."

"I did not know the butterflies were conspiring against the army, Sergeant," Delgado teased.

"They outnumber us," Ibarra quipped. "We might be in trouble."

Garcia wanted the earth to open up and swallow him! Everyone in the pueblo was going to ridicule him. His superiors would never promote him to permanent commandante once they learned about this. Head bowed, he made for his horse when Reyes came running.

"Sergeant, Sergeant," he called in a hushed voice, "we found the rebels."

"Not you, too, Corporal."

"Not me what, Sergeant?"

"How the Schmetterlinge are butterflies. That is what."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sergeant," Reyes replied, his voice tinged with urgency, "but there are five rebels on the other side of the ridge where you sent us to scout."

This got the attention of the others and Reyes fended off a flood of questions. Sergeant Garcia instructed Professor von Diefenbach to stay put with one of the privates for protection while he led the others to the ridge on foot. He peered through a shrub. Exactly as Reyes described, there were five men and two carts in a small clearing. One cart was loaded with kegs while a tarp cloaked the other.

Garcia signaled his men to surround the camp. After allowing enough time for the privates to get into position, he drew his sword and conducted the charge. Two rebels reached for pistols tucked in their waistbands. Well-aimed shots from the King's Lancers quashed the threat. Wounded traitors clutched bleeding shoulders.

Shouts to "kill the soldiers" echoed in the fracas.

The remaining three rebels, cut off from the carts, met the army's onslaught with rapiers in hand. Garcia blocked an attack from the burly chief. Blades clashed. Holding his ground, the sergeant defended against the unrelenting assault before executing a quick parry and riposte to seize control. The rapier went flying from his opponent's hand. "Ha ha, no rebel defeats the mighty Commandante Garcia!"

He moved to help subdue the remaining two traitors after his men aimed rifles on the hombre.

Once all five were tied up, he had Corporal Reyes climb aboard a cart and pry open a keg. "It is gunpowder, Sergeant. And they have firearms hidden behind the kegs."

"Let us see what we have here," Garcia said, pulling back the tarp covering the other cart. His eyes widened. "Madre de Dios!" There on the bed was a cannon along with a supply of cannonballs.

Murmurs swept amongst the soldiers. Shock of the discovery gave way to pride in their commandante.

Boisterous congratulations and hearty pats on the back coming from the same lancers who moments ago laughed at him overwhelmed the sergeant. Garcia delighted in the attention. Not even Zorro could have done it better. When one of the rebels inquired how the army located the camp, he grinned from ear to ear.

"The Schmetterlinge told me."

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><p>More than a week later, Sergeant Demetrio Lopez Garcia still basked in his military triumph and the many accolades heaped upon him. Hacendados eagerly treated him to refreshments in the tavern and listened as he recounted the perilous skirmish with dangerous traitors to their king. No one questioned the increasingly embellished heroics.<p>

Assigning Corporal Reyes to lead night patrols so he would sleep most of the day cured any potential insubordination.

Not only did news of the rebel capture make waves, but an interest in Schmetterlinge also swept through the pueblo. Citizens regularly joined Professor von Diefenbach in butterfly watching. Each evening, the professor enthusiastically shared with Garcia his new findings although most of it went over Garcia's head.

When time came for his new friend to depart, the sergeant saw him off at the stagecoach. After others said their goodbyes, von Diefenbach clicked his heels. "I will visit again before my ships sails for Heidelberg, Commandante."

Garcia echoed the clicking heels. "I look forward to it, Professor."

The señorita who danced in the tavern, now dressed in her regular skirts, ran toward the small group. She bowed shyly in front of Garcia. Then she turned to von Diefenbach. "I shall continue to record what you taught me about butterflies, Professor."

"Very good, Señorita."

"Vaya con Dios." She lingered for a moment before rising on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. In a blink she was gone, leaving a blushing, giggling Professor von Diefenbach in her wake.

"Spanish women are affectionate!"

"Sí." To Garcia's joy, the señoritas doted on him, too, including the lovely barmaid Clara.

"Auf Wiedersehen, my friend."

"Adiós."

Just like when they first met, von Diefenbach struggled getting his open parasol inside the coach. With a little help, they managed to squeeze it through the door.

Sergeant Garcia waved when the stagecoach pulled away. As he strolled toward the cuartel, hands on his belly, he caught sight of the familiar figures of Don Diego de la Vega and his manservant, Bernardo, approaching on horseback from the opposite direction.

Garcia beamed. He couldn't wait to regale his friends with his exciting adventure!

**The End**

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><p>AN: Lepidopterology is the study of moths and butterflies. A person who specializes in this area of study is called a lepidopterist or the archaic aurelian. Thank you for reading.


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